


Bittersweet Symphony of Love, 50 shades of Dramione

by Gryff_inTheGame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Begging, Breaking Up & Making Up, Business Trip, Consensual, Consensual Infidelity, Dark Hermione Granger, Divorce, Double Penetration, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fucking, Heavy Angst, Hotels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by 50 Shades of Grey, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, POV, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Possible Character Death, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:44:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryff_inTheGame/pseuds/Gryff_inTheGame
Summary: *W.I.P* This is a sideline project for fun in my spare time. Due to the nature of it being O/shots - updates may not be often.A collection of Dramione drabbles/one shots.Each chapter is inspired by a song on the 50 shades darker soundtrack. I am OBSESSED with this album!!!Each chapter is unrelated to the previous one. Tags and rating will be adjusted along the way!This will be a combination of light, dark and dirty! So yes of course, lemons!!!*I haven't read the 50 shades books. I'm drawing my inspo from the songs and possibly some scenes in the movie but this will be 100% my take on things. I own nothing, no copyright infringement is intended.  All the plots are mine.





	1. I don't wanna live forever

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! GiTG here!
> 
> I am now on tumblr! And I follow back :)  
> https://gryff-in-the-game.tumblr.com/  
>    
> More info in the summary.
> 
> 1st chapter is just a punch in the feels to warm up! I think its going to be a really fun piece to write. I hope you enjoy! X
> 
> Beta love to Saintdionysus!  
> And thank you to Coyg-81 for enjoying one of the first reads of this. X
> 
> Disclaimer, Jk Rowling owns. The songs featured in the makings of this fic aren't mine either. 
> 
> The plots are mine though.

* * *

 

**“I don't wanna live forever”**

By Taylor Swift ft Zayn Malik

 

* * *

 

Draco is sprawled across a luxurious king size bed—alone, half-wrapped in a white cotton sheet whilst parts of his naked body lay exposed to the large hotel room. He's been awake all damn night, and as the sun peeks through the curtains of his lavish accommodation, his bloodshot eyes strain as the light threatens to burn them. He buries his face into a pillow in an attempt to block the sun. He can't stop thinking about her, and it's driving him crazy.

 

 _Who the hell does she think she is?_ He grunts to himself, and it takes him an immense amount of effort to roll to his side. He flops himself onto his back, arms spread across the bed as he continues to wallow in self-pity, while memories of her continue to haunt him.

 

_Pfft. Ignoring my existence like I am nothing. I remember the things we did. You know what I’ve done to you. I know how I've made you feel every time my lips explored every crevice of your delectable body. I can't believe I am losing sleep over this beautiful fucking bitch._

 

Draco uses his elbows to push himself up.

 

_You're an exquisite specimen, Hermione...all it took was one taste. Don't you know what you're doing to me? Urgh._

 

His legs peel over the edge of the bed, and his feet connect with the floor. A wave of his hand opens the curtains, and he approaches the glass panels to take in the late morning view. His bare chest is incredibly stark in comparison to the orange-hued sky.

 

His hands are resting on top of his head while he paces in front of the window.

 

_I'm too fucking proud to tell you I want you back.You're bright, Granger, fucks sake I didn’t mean it. I didn't know I could push you that far. I fucked up. I've got a business meeting in five fucking minutes, but instead, I'm closed up in a hotel room thinking of your sweet voice moaning my name._

 

He sighs.

_Don't make me grovel, witch, I refuse. I won't deny you if you come back to me. But I'm impatient so don't make me wait too long. Please. I'm not begging but it's been long enough, you made your point._

 

The sound of his hotel room unlocking itself causes Draco to stare longingly at the door. His immediate thought is its _her_.

 

Blaise appears looking indifferent, dressed sharply in impeccable business attire. His face contorts into one of disgust at the site of Draco's disheveled form.

 

 _“_ For fucks sake, Draco, pull yourself together. Our meeting started 5 minutes ago, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Draco dismisses Blaise using a shooing motion. Blaise gives him a stern look, and Draco confesses his woes.

 

“Granger. She fucking left,” states Draco. There is something neurotic about the way he jitters and twitches in disbelief. “She's under my skin. In a bad way. I can't eat. I can't sleep.”

 

“Have you told her this?”

 

“Fuck no. Who do you think I am?”

 

“Mr. Fucking Stupid, that's who.”

 

 _“_ Thanks, captain- fucking obvious!”

 

“You're welcome,” smirks Blaise with a curt nod. “You do realise she's at the meeting downstairs don't you? She was asked to represent the ministry last minute.”

 

“What? She's here?” responds Draco with unnerving desperation.

 

Blaise nods. “She checked in last night. In fact, all business associates are staying on this floor.”

 

Feeling hopeful Draco accio’s his wand, a fresh suit, and a tie. He uses magic to dress himself, being sure to freshen up and he inspects his appearance in the mirror. He leans on the basin sink for a moment. _Fuck she's here. How was she sleeping on this floor last night without me knowing? Me! I've lost my touch. My senses are off...she's got me so fucked up I can't even think straight!_ He stares at his solid reflection at the realisation as he combs his hand through his hair. _What if she doesn't—_

 

“—Draco.”

 

Draco finds Blaise in the reflection of the mirror, but before he continues a strange ringing sound disrupts him—Blaise receives a phone call. He answers his muggle device promptly, and It isn't a long conversation. The voice on the other end is female.

 

“Blaise, the meeting has been postponed because you-know-who decided to sleep in.”

 

“Granger, I'm with him now. He's freshening up. We can be there—”

 

“—It's already been rearranged.”

 

“Very well. Let me know the details. I'll make sure he doesn't have another sleepy start.”

 

“Thank you. How is he?”

 

“It's probably best I don't discuss that.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Are you going to be hanging around?”

 

“I am. Just for two days. I've got some work to catch up on.”

 

“Can I suggest a drink later? To discuss—”

 

“—It's fine. I'm at the bar anyway. I need wifi and obviously something a little stronger in my morning coffee.”

 

“Understood. Look, I have to go. Take care, Granger.”

 

“You too.”

 

* * *

 

“Scratch that. Meeting’s been postponed because of your sleepy start.”

 

“I didn't get much— _any_ sleep,” snaps Draco.

 

“Well, whose fault is that?” questions Blaise in a mocking tone.

 

“Granger’s,” states Draco obviously.

 

“No, it's yours...” replies Blaise matter-of-factly.

 

Draco's head whips around, eager to know more. “You spoke to her?” he demands. “Where is she?”

 

“Hardly. It was business,” he plays it down, brushing it off like it's ‘no big deal.’ Calmly he dangles the meat in front of Draco. “I have reason to believe she is having a rather ‘special’ coffee at the bar whilst getting some work done.”

 

“I knew there were reasons why I keep you around,” chided Draco.

 

“Shut up and be grateful you prick. And stop being so dejected—shit doesn't suit your beautiful Malfoy face,” sniggered Blaise. “And Draco...do not fuck this up.”

 

* * *

 

 Hermione exits the restroom. Her heels click clack on the floor as she makes her way across the bar to her work space. She absent-mindedly passes Draco. Distracted by her thoughts of him.

 

* * *

 

Hermione checked into the hotel last night and coincidently, her room is next to his. Their beds backed onto the opposite sides of the same wall. She didn't get a wink of sleep as a result because she could hear him tossing and turning all night. She was grateful for the revitalising potion she'd packed—although she needed a tonne of makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes…

 

All night she replayed the events of their breakup, and she couldn’t help but question if she dodged a bullet or lost the love of her life. This breakup, in particular, has been her most painful experience to date.

 

* * *

 

Hermione passes Draco on her way to her table, and he gets a whiff of her. His heart increases as he inhales a fragrant mix of her floral perfume and pheromones. It's an alluring and intoxicating scent, and she remains oblivious to the way the chemicals between them are in effect.

 

She turns around to pull out her chair and sit down, but Draco is waiting. He reaches out to her, placing his hand on top of hers as she attempts to pull out the chair. His facial features are nothing short of strained, with a gaze so intense he looks as though he is in either extreme pain or struggling with a difficult task.

 

Hermione breaks the silence, but her voice doesn't crack to reflect the pieces of her shattered heart.

 

“Malfoy _.”_

 

Draco's heart is pounding so fast he is sure he is having a coronary. “Granger _.”_ He has no nerve, and they stand face on in an awkward silence.

 

Hermione clears her throat. _“_ Is there something you want to say?”

 

_Why do you have to break my balls like this, Hermione? I'm here. I've given in._

 

Draco remains frozen in silence—emasculated, lack of nerve; and he gulps as his dignity flies away.

Hermione begins to pack her things hurriedly. She is walking away from him quicker than he realises.

 

Draco's legs betray his pride as he finds himself running after her. He grabs her shoulder.

 

“Hermione, wait.”

 

Hermione stops, holding back the sobs that threaten to escape her.

 

“I'm already choking down my pride. Don't make this any harder than it is. Please. Just don't go.”

 

Hermione’s voice shakes a little, but she still delivers her response with grace.

 

“Then give me a reason to stay.”

 

Pushing himself beyond his restraints he blurts out, “you deserve so much more than I was ever prepared to give you. I'm sorry that it took you _leaving_ for me to realise that.”

 

Hermione’s mouth drops open in shock, but she recovers quickly. “So what now?”

 

Draco takes her left hand; his thumb tracing circles on the inside of her palm.

 

“Now I spend the rest of my life showing you.”


	2. Not Afraid Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the 50 shades soundtrack; "Not Afraid Anymore," by Halsey. I don't own the characters or the songs. The plot is mine. Each chapter is based on a different story. Yes, I've plotted a story for each song!
> 
> Thanks to Mr Benzedrine for beta-ing X
> 
> I've decided that I will be dedicating some of these chapters to fellow writer friends of mine. In no particular order—chapters will be dedicated depending on personalities and content. This chapter is for my English friend coyg-81 thank you for all the laughs. You are a pretty awesome Slytherin to put up with my crazy Gryffindor ass and I love you for that! (In a totally non-wierd way.
> 
> -GiTG X

* * *

 

**“Not Afraid Anymore”**

By Halsey

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione nervously tightens the ribbon on her corseted bodice. It is a combination of a deep— rich burgundy and midnight black silk. And it has a black fitted lace overlay which accentuates the shapely curves of her figure. 

Due to the boning of the corset hugging all the right places and being done up so tight, Hermione struggles to breathe. She isn't sure if it's due to the extravagant lingerie, or her nerves, or both. But either way, she feels sick to her stomach.

One at a time, she delicately rolls her fishnet stockings up her legs, taking care to avoid puncturing the sheer, delicate material. They stop just above the knee, and she follows suit to complete the ensemble by retrieving the suspender belt. She huffs, _How witches do this on a regular basis astounds me!_ as she fumbles to fasten it to her stockings.

Feeling flustered, Hermione stands to view herself in the full length mirror. She swivels on the ball and heel of opposite feet; checking everything is fastened correctly, she lightly admires the view. _What? That's my arse? Well, this lingerie really is quite amazing !_

She feels incredibly confident and sexy, and she laughs at the hypocrisy of it all. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined doing something as ridiculous as this to please the likes of a wizard. The wizard in question being Draco-fucking-Malfoy.

She admires his ambition for pursuing her. He's been trying to court her for some time now, but she foolishly pushed him away out of fear. She knows it's ironic: bold, brave Gryffindor afraid to date. She honestly thought it was part of some joke he'd cooked up with a bunch of Slytherins to break her heart. She's come to realise, though, that they are no longer at Hogwarts. She was wrong, and she's ready to take a risk, leaping into the unknown. _He's worth the risk. I'm not afraid anymore._

Hermione shakes her head, and extravagant curls fall loosely around her face onto her shoulders. She sweeps back the loose pieces to pin them out the way before adding the final touches. She is indecisive about her choice of lipstick _. Red or pink? Or none at all?_

She opts for the pink and applies it to her lips, pinching her cheeks for good measure. A rose coloured blush tints her cheeks, and she feels ready to face him.

Spritzing perfume on her neck and behind her knees as she walks to her door, she grabs her full length coat and a travelling cloak for added warmth. It is a chilly winter's night, and the last thing she wants is to catch a dreaded cold while trying to woo the gentleman that possesses her heart.

She turns on the spot and vanishes immediately, appearing on the porch of Draco's secluded property.

Hermione shudders as a gusty, wintery, gail blows. As she exhales, she creates a misty fog. She bites her bottom lip as she reaches forward to tap the “M” shaped knocker on the solid ebony door.  


 

* * *

  


Draco opens the door, shirtless, wearing nothing but tracksuit pants that are pulled tight by a drawstring around his hips. It's obvious he's not expecting visitors, and he’s looking a little rough. He wears stubbly facial hair, and his blond tresses aren’t slicked back. He has a Slytherin-green robe draped over his shoulders.

He quirks his brow at the site of Hermione, standing there in all her beauty with a strange look of mystery that begs him to question, “Granger, what are-”

Hermione presses her pointer finger to his lips to stop him mid sentence.”Shushhh.”

She opens her travelling cloak and unbuttons her coat, confidently revealing her under garments - or lack thereof.

Draco's chest stiffens at the sight of her. He's pleasantly surprised by her being here; dressed like _this—f_ or _him?_ It sends shivers down his spine. For once he doesn’t know what to say or do. Everything he's ever wanted is standing in front of him on a fucking platter, and he can't even pick up the fork to feed himself.

 

* * *

 

 Hermione is laughing hysterically on the inside. Draco, frozen in shock and speechless, is a sight she is unfamiliar with. She puckers up the courage to step forward, gently brushing past him as she invites herself in.

A gust of wind follows her, and Draco gets a whiff of her floral shampoo. He half sidesteps to let her past, but as their shoulders brush, his heart skips a beat. He abruptly closes the door, turning swiftly on the spot with his jaw ajar.

Hermione sweeps her cloak and coat off her shoulders. They fall to the floor of his grand foyer. She clears her throat subtly before saying,“ _Homenum revelio_.”

Draco blinks once. Twice. Three times before choking on his words. He nervously clears his throat. “Hem-hem. I'm alone, Granger.”

Hermione smiles at his awkwardness. “Obviously. I dare say you wouldn't be caught dead dressed like this, let alone in company.”

Before he can respond, Hermione stalks toward him seductively, and it's enough to distract him. She follows his eyes as they drift from her face down to her collarbone; his gaze continues further south, lingering on her chest—her cleavage is held up by her corset. It's sweetheart line dips low enough to get the imagination going, and goosebumps appear on his stomach. His eyes move down to her hips; his head tilts in appreciation before trailing his eyes from her hips to her crotch—that is currently concealed by silk and french lace. 

Draco blinks another two times before forcing his eyes to slither down her thighs. He admires how her fishnet stockings fit snug around her legs, and he imagines peeling them off her with his teeth.

Hermione is within arm's reach; she curls her hand her around his chin and admits, “Alone is just how I want you.” She glides her hands to his chest and pushes him into the living room.

“You're not alone anymore,” she mocks playfully.

Feeling to brunt of his nerves, and unable to believe his luck, Draco follows her lead willingly. His hands don't know what to do. They feel disconnected from the rest of him, and they shake a little as he eventually grips her hips, slowly guiding them up to her waist. There's a tingle in his pants, and he can feel his cock growing larger by the second. His mind is telling him to tend to her; _touch_ her, _please_ her in every way possible, _claim_ her.

_Fuck. Saucy little minx. I'll claim every inch of you._

Hermione cooperates with his touch. His hands are around her waist, so she pushes her body forward and slides her hands from his chest to his shoulders, minimising the space between them. With a mere centimeter between them, she noses forward slightly and the tips of their noses brush. The tension between them is out of this world. For at least thirty seconds, they each seem to hold their breath.

Hermione seals the deal. She tilts her head and lets hers lips take control of the situation, allowing them to connect with his. She starts off with a soft peck, treating it like an investigation. Just a light examination before the analysis. 

She begins the real examination by increasing her workload, teasing him with her lips—opening her mouth to let his tongue in and then pulling away as he leans in to take the bait. She holds back just long enough to keep him wanting more before diving back in to lock lips again. It works. It's a game of cat and mouse. He finds her irresistible, and he falls for it _every_ time. She wants to _tease_ him— _please_ him. She repeats this three times before giving in, and their tongues collide in a feverish battle of passion. 

It's not long before Draco’s mind and body work in unison. _Finally._ His hands glide from her waist to ass cheeks. He gives her a spank and a cheeky squeeze before he lifts her effortlessly. Hermione voluntarily wraps her legs around him, and their passionate battle continues.

Mid-kiss, Draco breaks away for a breather. Although puffed, he manages to blurt out, “What made you change your mind?” 

Hermione doesn't give it much thought; confessing straight away, “I'm not afraid anymore.”

Draco almost seems offended by her answer. “You were scared of me?” he asks, perplexed. 

Hermione shakes her head. “No.” Her eyes dart away from him, and she unfolds her legs, grounding them on the floor.

“I was afraid because I already know I care too much.” Her eyes fall back on his, and they search as she continues. “The fear stemmed from my doubts of your true intentions.”

His hand brushes her face. “Everyone has a weakness. Mine is you... I've lived everyday with intentions of loving you. I had no idea it was going to be this much.” His hand sweeps under her chin, pulling it up so she looks at him.

Draco hovers his lips an inch away from hers.“You should have opened your eyes sooner because I've always been crazy for you. _I Iove_ _you_ ,” he adds.

It takes Hermione's breath away and she spills herself without an ounce of control. “I love you—now.”

 


	3. Pray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this concept so much it is now another wip. 
> 
> Some of these chapter's are being dedicated, in no particular order to some of my writer friends.
> 
> This chapter is for one of my wonderful betas and fellow Gryffindor, Mr Benzedrine. Thanks for always understanding me! No matter how far fetched I think I'm being.
> 
> This chapter was beta-d by the lovely Saintdionysus X

 

* * *

  **“Pray”**

By JRY ft Rooty

* * *

  

I pace back and forth in front of my lavish fireplace. My fingers clasp firmly around an empty glass. I've been doing this for so long the ice cubes have melted, and the dregs of my firewhiskey look like watered-down apple juice. I did not sign up for this shit—marriage. I'm in my fucking prime! She won't even suck my dick!

I'm not struggling with what's expected of me as a pureblood husband, but there are things I won't stand for—I absolutely refuse. Astoria is a nightmare on legs, and I need out of this union. I don't give a fuck about bloodlines and purity. Heck. At this point, I'd even consider taking the Weaslette!

I slam my glass down on the ledge above the fireplace and the glass shatters. I glance at the time, and I'm already late. _Fuck._ I enter the fireplace and floo to Nott Manor.

 

* * *

 

I step into Nott’s office, and he's knocking back the remainder of his drink. He looks at me curiously before reprimanding my tardiness.“Nice of you to finally join us, Draco. Luckily Zabini and I own the club, so it doesn't matter if we're late.”

I give a curt nod to Zabini and he returns the acknowledgment. With a sneer, I tell Theo,“Fuck off, Nott. If you married a Greengrass, you'd be fucking late too.”

Theo’s lips curl into a wicked smile, “I was going to be a smartass, but I have to agree with you on that.” He proceeds, “Anyway—enough of that. You want a night off. We are here to help.”

Zabini and Nott share a look between each other that I haven't seen before. It's clear they are up to something. Before I can question their motives, they drag me into the floo and we are landing in the office of their club, “Divinity.”

With this being the first time I've attended their club and not knowing much about it, I can’t help but ask questions. Unfortunately, I missed the grand opening—thanks to my _wife._

“So, tell me—what makes your Gentlemen's club better than the rest?”

Blaise sneers, but with no hint of malice. It's sly and mischievous—the type of look he gives when he's confessing a dirty little secret. I admit it. I'm intrigued.

“ _D_ _ivinity,”_ Isn't exactly what one would call a gentlemen's club,” explains Blaise casually.

Nott smirks and adds, “It's a secret society of well-connected witches and wizards.”

I raise my brows with interest and motion them to carry on.

Blaise continues. “All members are a “Deity,” there are no rules. However, all _deities_ sign a blood oath—what happens in _Divinity_ stays in _Divinity_.”

Theo interjects, “Membership is by invitation only. And we _only_ accept the elite. This goes far beyond blood status and money. We’re talking connections here,” says Theo as he sweeps his hand through his dark locks before explaining further.

“The oath protects the sanctity of the club and also acts as a sort of gag order. Meaning that you could very well see the Minister of magic partaking in the club’s activities but you're forbidden to discuss it outside of these walls.”

 

Blaise strides across the office, halting in a small sitting area. He motions for Theo and I to join him. I follow suite and accede to the comforts of a luxurious deep-green leather chaise. As if disregarding years of friendship, he addresses me with a sense of formality reserved for business transactions. His mannerisms are surprising and I give my undivided attention. “So basically, you want to divorce Astoria without the chaos, correct?” He tilts his head looking to me for confirmation of his assumption. I nod, albeit annoyed of how apparent my failing marriage is to everyone. Blaise is unsympathetic, he displays nothing but calm and collected, and it reminds me of what it's like to be in the company of wizards I can actually trust.

Blaise summons three glasses full of ice and pours each of them a scotch. I have to say I find it weird we're drinking a muggle beverage. Times are truly changing. Blaise sips his drink and continues to converse. “Handle your business with one of our deities. We have access to the best lawyers. I highly recommend Granger.”

"Granger!?" I repeat his shocking suggestion.

Theo starts using wild hand movements, it's obvious he's spent far too much time with the Italian. “She’s the best as far as we're concerned. Granger solely defends, protects, and represents the club. Her deity clientele list alone is rather extensive,” he explains. “Before we can continue, you need to take the oath.”

I understand that what they have here is unique and I must say; I like it. I accept. “Very well then.”

“Oh and Draco,” interjects Blaise. “Disagreements amongst the Deity do not exist. All outside problems are left at the door. Alter egos causing trouble with a fellow deity in the club risk torture and loss of admission. As well as several other things—mainly to do with one's status and connections. We run deep here and we have a lot of power at our disposal.”

The statement sparks my interest because I feel he's directing at me for a particular reason. As Theo shuffles forward to explain, I realise that's true.

“We mean this, Draco. If you see Potter, there's no conflict within these walls. Don't put us in the position where we have to intervene with your “standing.” We've already had to socially strip McLaggen, and it wasn't pretty. He was...umm—well he went too far after getting lucky with Granger. He's the reason why we've added: “what happens in Divinity stays in Divinity to the oath.”

I nod in agreement, but I'm secretly shocked Granger had it in her. Moreso I’m impressed by the support of these two, and it leaves so many unanswered questions.

Blaise stands to smooth out his robes with his hands. “So for obvious legalities, Granger must be present during your initiation. If you wish to converse with her about personal matters I highly suggest ordering her an apple martini and joining her for a beverage before discussing business. Makes things a bit more pleasant.”

My response is a little sharp, but I can tell they understand this is a big change for me. I accept the advice, and reply, “Noted.”

Blaise and Theo nod at each other before Blaise announces, “Right. Let's get to proceedings then.”

 

* * *

 

Blaise disapparated and reappears with Hermione linked on his arm within seconds, and I am pleasantly surprised. She is a smouldering vision in a glittering slinky black dress and strappy stilettos. Beauty has really become her.

Her lips look as luscious and plump as a delectable strawberry and tinted in a seductive shade of red. I can't help but think it. _I would like to bite that lip._

Her hair is a wave of soft luscious curls swept onto her left shoulder exposing her alabaster neck. My mouth waters at the sight of her naked skin.

She surprisingly approaches me, greeting me with a warm, welcoming smile, “Evening, Malfoy.”

It's something she's never given me before, and I must say—I like it. She dips her head to nod courteously, and I'm impressed by her manners.

She speaks with the type of confidence I've never seen in a witch, and it enlightens me. I already understand why Zabini and Nott have grown to trust her. I wonder who invited her to Divinity? Has either of them been tempted to mix business with pleasure? I wonder why she slipped up with Mclaggen—unless she often mixes business with pleasure? Either way I am intrigued.

If that's the case, I am definitely interested in exploring _all_ of my options with her. I take her hand and kiss the back of it politely; returning her gesture with the same respect. I've never wanted to be single as much as I do now but given my impending divorce, I feel no guilt or remorse about my fantasies with her.

I find Hermione's presence commanding, as she summons an ancient looking scroll out of thin air with a click of her fingers. Her hips sway as she walks over to a peculiar painting on the wall and she opens the portrait revealing a hidden box in the wall. She retrieves from it a velvet case containing a strange looking quill.

 

* * *

 

She motions me to Theo’s desk and I sit before her in compliance captivated her in every sense. She walks out from behind the desk and signals something to Blaise and Theo causing them to leave us alone. I refuse to let on that I'm curious. She stands behind me but I admit I feel a jolt of nerves. She places her hand on top of my shoulder and I stiffen at her unsuspecting touch, not knowing what to expect from here. Her hand sweeps from my shoulder touching my arm and to my hand. Her delicate fingers grasp mine; peeling them away from the arms of the chair.

Her intense gaze pierces me, and I'm frozen. Not wanting the moment to end but too proud to implicate otherwise. She holds the strange quill at my pointed digit, and I notice it's inscribed with ancient runes and the end of the quill is sharp. She penetrates my skin with the pointed blade, and it's apparent the quill is using my blood as its source of an inkwell. Once she removes the quill, she guides my finger to the enchanted scroll and smears my bloody fingerprint on it. She hands me the quill and urges me to sign it. I feel as though I'm signing my life away but nothing can be worse than my marriage to Astoria, so I put my faith in the club. I put my trust in Hermione, and her demeanour has a calming effect on my nerves. I hadn't realised the initiation was over until she swivels my chair around and I am almost nose-to-nose with her. I should feel uncomfortable, but I don't. I ignore the urge to gulp.

She smiles at me and I feel a flutter in my chest. Suddenly, this feeling is a bit more bearable. I smile back at her, not a smirk, not a sneer but a genuine smile, and she radiates something that just pulls me in.

She speaks clear as ever and what she says astounds me. “So, Malfoy. I believe you have a predicament regarding the impending divorce of your wife.”

 

I can't find the words so I merely nod; a positive response.

I hear nothing, but I see seduction oozing from her lips as she says innocently, “I can take care of that for you.”

The way her lips move to form each word beckons me. The delicate swipe of her tongue unnerves me and threatens to challenge me in ways I've never known. I didn't know I needed her till now.

She unexpectedly takes my bloody finger and edges it toward her mouth, and I feel a raging pulse in my cock. _Who is this devil of a witch and what is she going to do with my finger?_ She slips it in her mouth—her tongue swirling the Inside of her cheeks enveloping my finger, and I exhale a long breath. _Fuck, Granger when did you get so fucking hot?_

I'm completely caught in her pleasant surprise. She was never one for sly innuendos, and I can no longer control myself. Words spill from my mouth before my mind can process them. “Keep doing that, Granger, and you'll have something else thrust into your mouth. I don't think that's the kind of business we came to discuss.”

Her cheeks hollow as she pulls my finger from her mouth, and I hear the wet smack of her lips in doing so. She leans over me, clears her throat and says, “I handle all of my business with the best intentions—to the _best_ of my ability. Lucky for you, I happen to get off on the seduction of married men. The fact that they are divorcing makes it easier on my conscience.”

  
My lips curl into a wicked smile. She just sang, and it was music to my ears. I pull her onto my lap and she straddles me willingly. I allow my hand to grip her neck, holding her in place while my lips brush her earlobes. I hover for a moment allowing my breath to echo in her ears. I feel a magnetic force pulling me too her and it's—overwhelming. Before I get a chance to act she whips her arm around and it swipes my grip away from her neck. She pins me with her body, and I indulge her. This is new territory for me and I'm enjoying it. I feel her lips graze my cheek and a rush of air as she whispers, “You're mine now, Malfoy. I own you.”


	4. Lies in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take note of the rating and tags update. This shit is hot, hot, hot!
> 
> Triad: DRAMIONAISE
> 
> Three is most definitely not a crowd.  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Dedicated to two lovely ladies, because this chapter is a little extra. Too the two Hermione’s in my life SaintDionysus + Autumn Lily so much Gryffindor love to you. You know why x
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing Mr Benzedrine X  
> -GiTG

* * *

 

**“Lies in the dark”**

By Tove Lo

* * *

 

 

Draco enters the elaborate, haughty bar. It's become a Friday night ritual for himself and Blaise: after work drinks leading them to a night of debauchery as they prey on the many socialites of the Wizarding world. Tonight would be no different. Or perhaps it would?

His eyes methodically sweep the crowd to find his partner in crime. Blaise is comfortably seated in a reserved section of the bar, roped off with an emerald green and silver velvet chord. Draco wastes no time in meeting his fellow slippery friend, wordlessly charming the soft cables to allow him access to their secluded haven. Blaise stands to greet him with curt nod as they display the usual pureblood pleasantries before making themselves comfortable in the lounge provided.

Blaise clicks his fingers, and a waiter rushes to serve them. He is brief—ordering tanqueray for the both of them, before offering Draco a fat Cuban cigar.

Not bothered by their lack of conversation, they each light their smokes inhaling the rich woody flavours as they take in the surroundings of their location. Their eyes fall on her at the same time—Hermione. They both exhale a long puff of smoke at their discovery. It's really her, the war-heroine mudblood, sitting alone on a luxurious silvery-velvet victorian chaise. She subtly raises the champagne flute to her lips, indulging in a sip of the bubbly beverage. Their attention doesn't dare deviate from her.

The lighting bounces off her shoulders—she is wearing a rather revealing strapless fitted little  black dress that hugs the top half of her figure; from the waist down it flares but still sits well above her knee. Her normally frizzy hair is relaxed into smooth flowy curls that dance lightly on her shoulders. She looks elegant, rich and regal, sitting there poised with her head held high. Her presence commands attention and has caught the eyes of many, but her expression appears unreadable.

Draco is captivated by her instantly, this— _Granger_ , is not the witch he used to know. It's suddenly a little warmer in here for Draco.  The collar of his shirt rubs against his neck, and he shrugs to readjust its position. He licks his lips, admiring her, and his intentions are clear from the get go. “My, my, doesn’t Granger look ravishing this evening...” he drawls. He can hardly contain his curiosity; his eyes are mesmerised, but he controls every ounce of his words.

Blaise concurs, “That she does. A little troubled, too, judging by how she is eloquently devouring that champagne like it's a reviving potion.” He too, licks his lips. “She looks quite the lady. It's only because we know her that we know the truth. Everything about her is inviting. She is the epitome of a pureblood socialite. I’m impressed at how she is pulling it off with such ease.”

Draco smirks at the observation. Its apparent they're like minded. “Perhaps the Gryffindor princess is having marital trouble? Yes, I agree. I have to admit, if she sits in a place like this with such confidence, it only makes me more curious of her. She is a long way from home, and _this_ is not her playground.”

“But it is ours, and we _know_ her. Our playground is superiority at its finest—she doesn't fool me. What are you proposing, Draco?”

“I think if Granger wants to play in a snake pit, she's going to get bitten.”

“I agree. Care to change it up this evening and share? Maybe we can offer her a ‘friendly’ distraction from her troubles?” suggests Blaise as he strokes his silky smooth chin.

A devious smirk spreads across Draco's face. “You don't need to ask twice.”

Blaise rises to the occasion, relishing the prospects of tonight's conquest— _her._ “Well—I'll get the party started, warm her up... she may not take it lightly if you join us straight away,”

he replies casually with a stab of reality. “So give me some time with her. She has no reason to fret about me.”

“Very well. Until then, I'll keep sending the champagne and observe. Zabini, be discreet. You sometimes come across voracious,” he chuckles.

Blaise is assertive; he does many things well but his ability to woo witches, and naturally ‘charm their knickers off’ is a skill of second nature to him. “And rightly so. I don't see my witches complaining.”

“Well, Granger isn't your average witch,” says Draco.

Blaise chuckles at their banter. “Granger’s night is about to get a whole lot more exciting. Oh, and Draco, don't put anything in her champagne. I enjoy the thrill of the chase. Seducing them with my naturally good looks and sharp witty tongue is my forte.”

“I wasn't planning on it Zabini. This will be victorious for the both of us. Do stop drooling now. You've got some ground work do before I can join in on the fun, I don't want to wait all night for it. And—I wouldn't call anything you say or do with your tongue ‘sharp and witty,’ I've seen it all,” he deadpans with a quirked brow before offering a devious grin.

Blaise flashes an irritated look before playfully winking. He leaves the comforts of their seclusion to make his way over to Hermione. His confidence radiates with each step he takes, and he ignores the slow build of adrenaline swirling in him. His eyes lock onto hers the moment he arrives at her table.

 

* * *

 

“Well hello there, Hermione, What's a witch such as yourself doing in a highly prejudice place like this?”

Hermione is a little taken aback by his brazen behaviour and the use of her name. She wasn't expecting him to be here tonight. “Hello, Blaise. I wanted a night off—they'll never find me here.”

Blaise tilts his head politely—acknowledging her. “Very well. I apologize for the intrusion, but I can't leave you unattended in a place like this. This is a snake pit, Hermione. It's full of wizards looking to prey on the young unsuspecting beauty, and they are quite exceptional at luring them to temptation. Mind if I join you?”

Hermione cackles. “Don't think for one second I don't know why you're over here, Zabini. I'm not some daft bimbo. However, please do join me—there's no need to manipulate. Tell me, did it occur to you that this isn't my first time here?” she retorts.”I just so happened to be waiting for some poor, unsuspecting wizard courageous enough to approach me. To converse with me over average conversation—that is, until either of us is drunk enough to initiate a one night stand. Before desperately whisking off to some lavish muggle hotel, away from prying eyes, for a sinful night of self-indulgent, guilty pleasure.”

Blaise is momentarily speechless, but he can't hide his cheshire grin.

Hermione breaks eye contact. With a subtle tilt of her head, she flutters her eyelashes in the direction of the seat next to her, and then innocently teases him with bashful eyes. She motions him to lean forward because he hasn't moved—obviously in shock. She lowers her voice to an almost whisper, and her lips brush his ear as she speaks, “If you're not upto the task, however, please run along—because you're killing the vibe of potential suitors for my evening's activities.”

Blaise feels a jolt of nerve and he sweeps around the table, taking his place in the seat next to her. His confidence is back, and he's feeling good. “Well, Hermione. I don't quite know when you got so fucking sexy, but I am more than comfortable in your presence. I don't believe we are capable of boring conversation.”

Hermione smiles back, excited by tonights prospect with Blaise. “You may proceed, but Zabini: a word of warning. Don't get attached. Whatever happens tonight is a one off. I admit it. Good people do bad things, too, and I can’t fake it. I like your confidence. And tonight, I'm into you.”

Blaise curls his fingers to signal a barman, and he orders more drinks. It's not long before they're both incredibly tipsy and shamelessly flirting with one another.

 

* * *

 

Blaise's hand rests firmly on the small of her back, and the rest of their conversation is but a dull whisper in each other’s ears. They're incredibly cozy, but no one would know how intoxicated they truly are. Blaise excuses himself to visit the restroom, and he catches up with Draco, eager to make it a three person affair.

“Draco, you have no idea what we're dealing with. She is not the busy-body know-it-all-lioness we went to school with—that’s for sure. Her nerve has always been outstanding, I must say, but now it appears she is on an equal playing field.”

Surprised by Blaise’s analysis, Draco is excited to hear the news. The beginning of their night had started with endless possibilities...now it's so much more.

He just needs to add himself to the equation. And fast.

“So, she was forthcoming?” enquires Draco.

“She said things to me I never imagined she'd be capable of saying. There is something about her. Her behaviour is unseemly immoral—I mean, she called me out straight away. She's harbouring Slytherin traits, and I'm almost convinced she's just epically fooled us all our entire lives.”

“Well, it's probably best I get straight to the point then. Will you give me a minute with her? When I give you the nod, come back over, and we can test the waters.”

“Don't fuck this up, Draco.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

 

* * *

 

Draco slips into the seat on the other side of Hermione, and she doesn't even look at him.

“Malfoy. I should have known you'd be lurking around somewhere,” she says expectantly.

“This bar is on regular rotation. Zabini and I enjoy Friday night drinks, so you are right in thinking that,” he affirms.

Hermione’s facial features remain reserved, but it doesn’t stop her from being cheeky.

“Don't bore me with the small talk, Malfoy. You want a piece of the action. Correct?”

Draco chuckles, delighted by her brilliance. “Granger, when Blaise said you were forthcoming, I had no idea you'd be _this_ forward. I'm curious to know, why the change?”

Their eyes connect, and Hermione responds smoothly, “I wouldn't exactly call it a change, _Draco_ . I happen to enjoy playing both sides, and it just so happens that I do it well. It keeps things _interesting_ for me. A war heroine with far too much money needs an outlet. I'm not like anyone you've ever known, that you can be sure of.”

“Right you are. I'm not really sure how to feel about this revelation. It's as though my childhood has been complete a lie,” says Draco, somewhat perplexed.

“I wouldn't exactly call what you had a childhood. But yes, there are lots of things you don't know about me,” she mocks.

His eyebrows jumped at the insult, but he isn't offended by it. If anything, her feistiness turns him on. “Ouch. Well, Granger, I find your mystery enticing, and I most definitely would like to unravel you. There's a missing piece of your puzzle...located south of my abdomen; approximately six inches long, sitting uncomfortably snug in my pants. What are you planning to do about that?”

“Well obviously I'm a problem solver,” she winks, “...and I plan on doing many things _.”_ Her hand playfully rests on his thigh; gently sweeping up toward the centre of it, she continues, “None of which I'd be willing to show you here.” She locates the prize between his legs. “But I will show you what I want to do with this.” She glides her hand over the bulge in his pants and gives it a delicate squeeze “...As soon as we get out of here,” she adds.

“Well, tonight's your lucky night,” he glides his hand up the skirt of her dress, allowing the flowy material to bunch up around the top of her thighs. He stops it there for modesty. “You have just became my favorite game,” he barks possessively, and he allows his hand to investigate beyond the bunched up material of her skirt. He nods to Blaise over at the bar, and Blaise raises from the barstool immediately.

 

* * *

 

Draco finds the lace of her kickers and tugs them aside, just enough to let his fingers tease her.

Hermione gasps at his touch.

His fingers feel her slick folds, and he prods her entrance. She shuffles in the chair, spreading her legs a little wider to accommodate his actions. He feels her warmth as he slips a finger into her wet cunt, and they both exhale with his movement. He thrusts his finger in and out of her, and her body language is corresponding well to his touch. Her face is flushed, and her legs quiver, and it's just what she needs to get going. They sit there, blending into the background of the bar, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but it's obviously no problem if anyone happens to see what they are getting up too.

Hermione’s hand is still resting on the bulge of his pants. It's all becoming a bit too much as she fills with a desperate need to whip out his cock and do anything to it. Her pulsing clit is throbbing so hard she feels as though she will explode by one touch of it.

Draco continues, adding a second finger inside her, and his thumb gently presses her sensitive nub. She jolts in surprise, but she doesn't refuse him. She wants it. She wants him— _all_ of him, not just the feel of his fingers. _This_ —the anticipation; the need to be satisfied, is quickly building. Feeling the heat, Hermione gently rolls her hips against his fingers. There they sit, half-lidded eyes, with the lower half of their bodies concealed under the table. Her mouth opens wide mid-gasp; no one would know something sinfully wicked is taking place under the table.

 

* * *

 

Blaise sits on the other side of Hermione, eager to join in. Her mouth drops open, and he moves quickly to bring something to the table. His hand brushes under her chin and he pulls her face toward him. He hovers an inch from her face, and their eyes lock in an intense battle. He hovers away from her lips, just enough to leave her hanging—enough, to make her want him too. He watches her body language with interest; how her lips are trembling now, how she is biting her bottom lip to try to control it—her hips still rolling against Draco’s fingers - her flushed cheeks.

Blaise licks his lips, and he can see the desperation in her eyes. By this point, he can tell she won't make a move, she is close to coming undone. He see’s her chest jolt, her breath hitch, and he knows it's time. He locks his lips onto her lips, and they commence a fierce, passionate snog. Seconds into their kiss, she erupts as stifled moans come out her busy mouth. He does his best to muffle her pleasure, but her noises arouse him. He can feel the rise of his cock, and he's ready to fuck her. He's been ready all night.

Draco withdraws his fingers, smearing her juices on her inner thighs. He gives it a hearty squeeze, and she pulls away from Blaise, completely caught in the moment. She snaps her head in the direction of Draco and pulls him into a vicious kiss, thanking him for his orgasmic gift. He bites and sucks her bottom lip, and by this point they've started to draw some attention. Still locked in Hermione’s kiss, Draco reaches out for Blaise’s arm, they connect, and he Apparates them to Blaise’s flat.

He breaks away from her greedy lips and says to her, “I apologise for not whisking you away to some lavish muggle hotel. But Zabini’s flat is far  more _private,_ for a ‘sinful night of self-indulgent, guilty’ — _pleasures.”_

Hermione is a little puffed from the ordeal, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to eat Blaise’s face. She pulls him to her and snogs him first this time, but she adds something else to the equation. While they kiss, she fumbles to undo his shirt; she succeeds no less, and it's not long before she can feel his smooth, chiseled abs under her shaky fingers. She starts to make subtle little noises again, and they drive him wild. He is unzipping the back of her dress before she knows it, and the next thing she feels is Draco behind her. He's aiding in the removal of her dress, slipping it off her body like silk.

Her dress is on the floor, leaving her exposed. He unclips her black, silky, strapless bra and slips his hands around to fondle her perfect little titties. His hands have a mind of their own as they freely explore her body. They wander down to her matching g-string, so tiny it's basically non existent. Draco pulls on the string between her arse playfully, and he releases it so it flicks her. Her hand whips behind her, and she finds his hand, lacing their fingers together to feel intimate with him.

Draco sweeps her hair off her shoulder with his other hand so he can kiss her neck. He tugs and sucks at her skin, treating her as though she is a selection of the finest nibbles. He releases her hand and finds her hips; he grips them, pulling her back with a desperate need to grind against her.

Hermione releases Blaise from her kiss and undoes his pants. She removes them with a swift yank before swivelling around to latch her hands onto Draco’s pants.

Draco peels his shirt over his head, not fussed about fucking around with the buttons. Hermione has removed all the clothing below his waist and is kneeling before him, already taking his cock into her mouth.

Her tongue swirls and slides back and forth the length of him, enjoying the fact that she is making his knees weak.

Blaise is a little bored, so he puts himself to use, completely comfortable with his sexuality. He steps behind Draco and allows his hands to glide over his shoulders. He gives Draco’s shoulders a firm massage to relax him. He's been involved with Draco before, but it's important to warm him up to it. He squeezes and rubs his shoulders, but Draco isn't tense at all. Draco’s head rolls back as he grunts, while Hermione continues to work his cock. Blaise takes it as his invitation. His hands leave his shoulders and glide down Draco’s arms to his hips. He tugs Draco’s hips and shuffles his body against the back of him; their bodies have full contact—skin on _skin._

Blaise starts kissing Draco’s neck, and he doesn't mind. He's thoroughly enjoying being tended too, and tonight he's in the mood for pushing boundaries. Draco’s head is still rolled back as Blaise moves in to kiss him. They keep their tongues out of it for the moment, not sure of Hermione will mind, so they resort to feverish kisses. Their lips smack together in a desperate push-pull.

Blaise slips and finger into Draco’s mouth and he sucks on it without hesitation. Pulling his finger from Draco’s mouth, he spits on it for added lubrication before his finger ventures to Draco’s ass. Blaise pushes Draco’s back down and he leans on Hermione’s shoulders while she is sucking him. Blaise slides his finger between Draco’s cheeks, finding his rear end, and teases him by circling his rim with his pointed digit.

Draco pushes his ass out just a little bit more, and Blaise recognises the permission to go on. He slips his finger in Draco’s hole and starts moving in and out of him. Draco’s grunts and puffs egg him on, and Blaise’s cock rises with the excitement of it. Draco’s body is shaking as a result of the double penetration, and as Hermione and Blaise work in unison, moving to the same rhythm—thrust for suck, Draco explodes and shudders as the orgasm rolls through him.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, that was so good,” says Draco, satisfied and hungry for more. “It's your turn, Zabini,” he winks.

“I thought you'd never say that,” quips Blaise as he uses his wandless magic to clean them all up. He grabs Hermione and guides her to his couch instantly.

He relaxes into his grand lounge with a view of Hermione’s almost naked body standing before him. He licks his lips seductively. “Get rid of those before I rip them off,” he commands.

Hermione is normally one for complying with rules, but this is her game, too, and she wants to play. “I think I'll take option two, thanks,” she quips with a smile, and she disobeys his order, climbing on top and straddling his lap.

Blaise is amused by her defiance. His fingers peel around the front edges of the delicate string of her knickers. He tugs them, causing them to wedge between her ridge and she gasps as it rubs her clit. He begins tugging more, using the friction of her underwear to grind her clit, and her breathing hitches with the excitement of it, relishing the feel. This is hot, and Hermione has never had someone do this to her before.

Growing impatient, Blaise gives her g-string one more tug before ripping it open. He is welcomed by her smooth pussy; there’s no doubt about it, he's aching for her.

He tugs again to remove her ripped knickers, throwing them to the floor. His fingers swipe her pussy, and he's delighted she is soaking wet. She moans in appreciation by his action. _She’s begging for it_ , he thinks to himself. He has no need to hold back now. Unable to wait any longer, he lowers her onto his hard cock, and her pussy swallows him whole with ease. She's tight, but he likes it, and, as she rides him, her tight cunt takes him to new heights. His hands are on her waist, and he grips her, helping her as she bounces on him, and they commence another battle of snogging.

They're fucking each other and eating each others faces like no other. The temperature of Blaise’s flat sizzles; the smell of sex lingers, and they pant, puff, and moan with each other. He stops mid-thrust, still buried at the hilt, and swivels their bodies so that he is laying on the couch. He continues thrusting, as she does grinding, and together they push each other to the brink—before slowing it down; holding it in, building the pace and pressure again, until they are driven to insanity. It's a game of guilty pleasures to see who loses their mind first, and they are both stronger than they give each other credit for, so the keep playing as their bodies shake and tremble, as they tease, but it's getting harder for them to hold it in.

Draco is admiring the view. A mass of dark chocolate intertwined with milk, and his mouth waters at the marbled concoction. He's stroking himself to the rhythm of their sex, but he finds the commotion irresistible. He makes his way to the couch and kneels behind Hermione. Her arse is teasing him; she's face down, ass up, and her back is arched so that her butt is pushed out. He needs to feel her. His hands grip her arse as he spreads her cheeks wide. He stretches her skin, enjoying the sight of her delectable star. His dives between her cheeks to eat her ass; pummeling her exit with his tongue.

Hermione is finding it extremely difficult to “hold on.” Blaise is pounding her, Draco is licking her asshole, and they are a sweaty mess of limbs. The building pressure Hermione is feeling is again halted, as Blaise slows the tempo once more. “Fuck, Zabini what are you doing to me?” she pants in between his slow, steady thrusts.

Draco removes his tongue from her arse and slips his thumb into her without question.  

Hermione throws her head back, moaning in pleasure at his expense, and she's on such a high from being with them that her vision is being clouded by blurs of ecstasy.

Draco, deciding she is ready, spits on her hole for good measure before aligning his cock with her and gently penetrating her ass. He grunts as her walls envelope him, and the feeling is bliss.

The three of them are overwhelmed by euphoria as their limbs are entwined, working together in unison; thrusting, and grinding, and fucking…

With the addition of Draco’s cock pummeling her arse, Hermione is about to give in. He's driving his cock into her, she's rolling back into him and then grinding on Blaise, all whilst Blaise is balls deep, forcing every inch of him inside her. This is a game she never wants to end. She doesn't want to get off this tricycle. How did she not figure out sooner that this is the sex life she's been missing out on?

One synonymous thrust from Blaise and Draco causes her to shout, “Fuck Draco, Blaise I—don't _stop!”_

Blaise smirks at her, filled with a sense of pride as his best mate fucks her from behind. She is wedged in a snake sandwich and loving it. She has been quite the guest, and he's honoured she's enjoying herself so much at their expense. She’s kissing him again, making those sweet little moans that he's grown to like.

“Ladies first,” he hums, and she doesn't wait any longer. Finally, she gives in.

“Oh!-my-urgh-FUCK!”

With Hermione’s release, the Slytherins allow their own, and it's heavenly. All three of them collapse on top of each other, exhausted from their evening's activities.

 

* * *

 

Hermione’s head is resting on Blaise’s chest; meanwhile, his hands are laced with Draco’s.  

The sun begins to rise, and a smidge of light threatens to surround them.

Draco kisses Hermione’s shoulders, back, and her neck affectionately. In between his lips smacking her skin, he mumbles, “You were great, my darling. This has to be my favourite role played yet.”

Hermione looks over her shoulder with a wide grin. “Thank you for letting us have a friend join in. I knew there was a reason you were so comfortable with each other at school. If I'd have known Slytherin house was full of sex gods that regularly participated in threesomes, I would have joined in long before our marriage, Draco.”

“Well, perhaps—if Zabini doesn't mind, we can do this again. We appreciated the use of your flat, Blaise.”

“That was the best fucking sex of my life. If this is how you guys fuck all the time—count me in. Or better yet, find me a witch that is into this shit too.”

Hermione kisses his chest and says, “Maybe we can add another player next round? I have just the girl in mind. Rumours were, you had a crush on her in school, Blaise.”

Blaise is shocked by the knowledge of what he thought was a secret, but he isn't offended. “Are you telling me, Miss Red, would be up for this?”

Hermione giggles at his response. “Well, yes. Where do you think I learned to kiss - and suck a dick? I wasn't exactly experienced, you know.”

“Well considering you didn't suck mine, I wouldn't know. But I'm more than happy to volunteer my services to find out.”

Draco flashes Blaise a jealous glare. “Ease up, wog, you’ve had your fun for the night,” he warns. “Save it for the Weaslette.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione and Ginny are enjoying a champagne brunch in a quaint little garden in Greece.

Ginny smirks at Hermione, bursting to know the details. “So, you have that after sex glow about you, and I know you and Malfoy get up to all sort of things. Please, indulge me. My sex life is only half as exciting as yours, and I live vicariously through you.” 

A rose blush tints Hermione’s cheeks as she begins, “Well, we did something we've never done before—together, that is.”

“Well go on then, do tell!” 

“We had a friend join in…”

“A friend? Who is this friend, Hermione?”

“Bla—”

“You had a threesome with Blaise Zabini! Why the hell wasn't I invited? I've heard some wonderful things about that slippery Slytherin in the sack. I'm jealous! You bitch! Please, tell me it was extraordinary?”

Hermione burst into laughter at her friends reaction and waves her wand to cast a _muffliato._

“You have no idea, Ginny. I can't even begin to express in words how good it was,” she says, flushed as she remembers the heat that night.

“Well, I think I'm done with the champagne. I need a _stiff_ drink. I want details, think of it as though you're writing an analysis for work. I'm talking—an essay length document, leaving nothing to my imagination,” urges Ginny.

“I've got something better than that,” teases Hermione with a subtle wink.

“Oh?” enquires Ginny.

Hermione clears her throat before asking, “Well, how about you join in with the three of us next time?” 

“Are you being serious, Hermione?”

“I am.”

Ginny is excited by the invitation as the possibilities flood her mind. “Well, fuck. We need to go lingerie shopping ASAP!” she says as she skulls her stiff drink before pulling Hermione out of the restaurant. She Apparates them to a lingerie store in Italy, discreetly tucked away of a main street. As they enter the shop, Hermione takes note of the store, and a devious smirk spreads across her face.

 

* * *

 

 Ginny approaches the store owner, and a tall, dark gentleman is inspecting the lace on an extravagant corseted bodysuit while his assistant is scribbling notes. 

“Excuse me, can y—” 

The sound of the voice is familiar to the owner, and he turns around to welcome his customer. He is greeted by two: the silent, devilish grin of Hermione Malfoy, and a shocked Ginevra Weasley.

“Good afternoon, how may I be of assistance?”

“Zabini? You? Wh—”

“I have a vast selection of the finest here. And Ginevra, I'd be more than happy to personally see to it that your _requests_ are taken care of. Perhaps a private discussion in my office?”

Knowing a hint when she see’s one, Hermione wastes no time in bailing, leaving Ginny alone with Blaise to pick out lingerie. She chuckles to herself at her matchmaking skills. _Next round is going to be interesting_ , she thinks as she Apparates home.

 

* * *

 

Her husband is waiting for her, naked on the dining table, laying across it as though he is a feast fit for a Queen.

“I know you've just had brunch, but I thought you might like dessert?” says Draco with a sneaky grin.

Hermione licks her lips and her hips sway as she walks toward him.

“I've always had a sweet tooth. I've never been one to deny dessert—especially when it is prepared to the highest of standards, spread in front of me like a buffet,” she cajoles. “How fortunate it is that my favourite dessert is calorie and cavity free.”

“Well I suggest you better not let it get cold then.”

 

 

 

 

 


	5. No running from me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Hermione with eventual DeathEater!Hermione. 
> 
> 1st ppov. Nothing graphic but still - very, VERY dark. 
> 
> Again more Beta-love to Mr Benzedrine X
> 
> Let me know what you think? 
> 
> By the way, from now on you may notice me popping my author name next to some quotes + things I've written. This is because, yes, I am planning original work and I'd like some of these things to be recognised by my author name :)

* * *

**“No running from me”**

By Toulouse

* * *

 

 

_My mind is as stable as my fickle heart._

_Who knew darkness could comfort my light._

_I plunge into the depths of my deep dark sea._

_Fantasising about a life that can never be._

_This diary is to comfort my soul._

_As I hover on the edge of it all._

_Inking my thoughts._

_Losing my mind._

_I'll spill dreams and my demons as though I am blind._

 

_\- Sam C. Hale aka GiTG_

* * *

 

 

**3 April 1998.**

 

The night Harry, Ron, and I were captured and taken to the Manor, I was tortured beyond repair. I am scarred both physically and mentally by the ordeal.

The tenderness of my arm is raw, and the pain of it aches with a throbbing burn. I am reminded of it constantly.

I told them to leave me behind: Harry and Ron. They had a small window of opportunity, and there was no way I could make it. I know they will find some way to help me. They need me like I need their friendship. I'm still full of hope, even though the daily torture has left me feeling slightly unhinged. I will write in this as often as I can, in hopes of keeping my mind.

Malfoy comes to see me. It's as though he feels guilty because he brings me well catered meals, blood replenishing potions, and water. My skin is scarred, but the external damage and the torture hasn't broken me.

My name is Hermione Jean Granger.

I am brave.

I am fierce.

I am a force to be reckoned with.

I will not idle my mind and wait to be rescued like some damsel in distress. I will seize any opportunity to escape this hell-hole.

 

* * *

 

**6th April 1998.**

 

I have a lot more scars now. I suppose three days is a long time when you are being held hostage by a bunch of deranged, depraved, dark witches and wizards.

My skin weeps, and my wounds bleed as they pool with my crimson. I roll my body on its side as I write this, and the cuts on my stomach dribble my blood as I watch it roll off my mid section. I observe how it fills the crevices of the stoned floor, creating colourful splashes of red in the pavement. It kind of glitters amongst the stone; it's enchanting, the colour of it.

There's no beauty in bleeding, though. There is nothing graceful in the pain of being tortured.  I'm sure my captors beg to differ. I don't let them see my anguish. I refuse to give them the satisfaction in knowing they have the slightest effect on my will. Not my will to live, no, my will to escape. I worry about how this torture will affect me in the long run, if I continue to endure it. I don't enjoy it - it isn’t fun. But I'm surprised at how well I can hide its effects on me. I suppose that's why they do it all the more, to break me.

At this point I'd rather die than lose my mind, or worse, become one of them...

My limbs ache from fighting back the savage Death Eaters that try to harm me. They seem to enjoy physically restraining me. I never yell or scream though. I just fight with every fiber of my being.

I'm exhausted by it already.

Sometimes I think that letting it all out, the screaming, crying, will not only be an oddly satisfying comfort to me; it'll remind me that this is real, and I'm still _alive_.

But then the other side of me thinks that if I don't react, I can still eventually wake up from this nightmare unscathed.

Malfoy has seen to me every day. I see the guilt reflect the dilated pupils of his eyes when he stares back at my lightless ones. His eyes are dark, and stormy ,swirling in a mist of marbled gun metal grey and silver. It creates havoc with the moonlight shining through the dungeon windows.

A battle of light and dark.

He held me while silent tears rolled off my cheeks and whispered sweet nothings in my ears.

“I'm sorry I can't help you any more than this. It's going to be okay, Granger. You're brave. You're Hermione Granger. If anyone can get through this, it's you.”

It's a side to him I've never seen. Compassionate. Soft. It's taken me by surprise, but even I realise that Malfoy is tortured simply by being here. Witnessing all this. He was born into this. He knows nothing of how it's supposed to be.

Deep down, he knows right from wrong. And that in itself gives me hope for the future, even if I don't have one.

Somehow, amongst all of the darkness, he has managed to find some light. I don't know if that's because of me, but I find myself wanting to trust him and comfort him in return.

My name is Hermione Granger.

I have nowhere to run.

There's nowhere to hide.

I believe in redemption.

I believe there is beauty in the resistance.

I believe that foes can become friends, despite their troubled past, and I want to believe that Malfoy has a life beyond his unfortunate lineage.

No one has come for me, but that's okay, because I have him on my side. And that is better than no one.

 

* * *

 

**12th April 1998.**

 

It's been a week since my last entry. I blacked out days ago and have only come to.

I woke to him by my side, though, and it makes me smile; in fact, I am looking at him as I write this. Is it wrong of me to think he's beautiful?

My head hurts, and I'm finding it hard to write. I often try to think of my favourite passages from “Hogwarts, A History,” but chunks of it are missing. I'm struggling to form sentences in my thoughts.

I try to remember them. My friends. There's a throbbing ache in my head when I try to concentrate on summoning memories of them, but they come to me in blurs. Flashes of red hair and piercing green eyes. Although it's getting hard to see them clearly, I'm grateful to remember how it feels to know true friendship. There's a hole in my heart from their absence, but the void is slowly being filled by him.

I'm not all that sure how I feel at the moment, so this entry is brief.

I am Hermione.

I am a Gryffindor.

My head and my heart ache, but I'm doing okay.

It's probably a good thing I was out of it. Whatever I endured over the past week? It's  surely not something I want to know happened to me.

 

* * *

 

**24th April 1998.**

 

Two weeks it's been, my fickle friend.

I've endured unspeakable things. I haven't wanted to write about any of it. I still don't.

Maybe I believe that If I don't write it, I can push it aside as though it never happened, and I'm okay with that. For the time being, that is.

I pinch my arms and I don't wake up.

I'm still here.

I'm still living this nightmare.

There's nowhere to run.

I desperately cling to the only friendship I know in here. The one with him. Draco. The lines of our friendship are somewhat blurred. The other day we found comfort in each other - he kissed me, and I kissed him back.

Maybe I just crave tenderness, and he is the only one here worthy enough to provide it. Either way, I'm not complaining. I'm not going to say he completes me, but he makes being here okay, to an extent.

Voldemort noticed our closeness and he was angered by it. Draco has been forbidden to visit me. The only time I see him now is when my body is dragged up the dungeon staircase to the drawing room to be tortured for information and raped by whomever wishes to dip into a filthy mudblood. It's surprisingly a lot.

My spirit is broken. I have little hope. I wish I was dead already. No normal witch could have survived this for as long as I have.

Why me?

My name doesn't even matter anymore. If I mattered, they would have done anything, found some way to help me, but I don't blame them. It would be a suicide mission to come here, so I forgive you.

Now I have to help myself the only way I know how. I have to die.

He can't look me in the eye anymore - Draco. I assume he's wracked with so much guilt that he lacks the courage to help me, or he's disgusted by my existence.

It's okay - I'm not mad at him. I hope he reads this when I'm gone. So he knows that I care, and I understand. Maybe I even love him?

It's fact that I do. I do love him.

This situation is far from ideal.

I'm sorry I want to give up.

I'm sorry I got him in trouble.

I am nobody. Just let me go.

 

* * *

 

**15th May 1998.**

 

I felt like I was building a resistance to it: the torture. I went from feeling something to being numb. To being deprived of sensation.

I find myself a little discombobulated. The darkness is enticing, and I must say, I can feel it  pulling me in.

It's probably sick that I've long past being desensitised. I mean, people lose their mind over this, but I've come to enjoy it. Not the part where I'm forgetting who I am and everything that I stand for, but the part where I feel everything now. I can't really decide if it's pain and/or pleasure. I suppose I'm coming undone. My hinges are loosening, my nuts and bolts are rejecting from my body, and they clang to the floor in a heap of flakey, rusty bronze. The floor beneath me is a magnet, pulling at me piece by piece. Each fragment unrecognisable, as my defenses collapse around me.

After being in his presence, the Dark Lord that is, I no longer fear him. If anything, I feel this need to impress him. I think he sees something in me. I hope he does. I'd like nothing more than to have a purpose in his regime and prove I am worthy of more than torture. He tortures me less, now. I see it as a sign. Most days I watch, but I miss the attention.

I admit, I fantasise about the rush I get from being _crucio’d._ Having all your nerve endings set on fire with a pulsing burn that doesn't fade. The way my body twitched and contorted to the feeling of being torched inside and out. The way bloody daggers have pierced my skin, drawing pretty little patterns on me. Over time they will only fade, but the scars will forevermore tell my story. They're markings of importance given to me that have proven my ability to the Dark Lord.  Mudbloods are far more capable and valuable than he ever knew. I've done a wonderful thing for my kind in the magical world. My resilience and loyalty to those who no longer matter to me made him see a loyalty he craves to have on his side.

I miss the determination I had to die.

I now survive without the pieces of myself I thought I once needed. I feel ambitious, to say the least. I suppose it's a trait they've rubbed into me. I crave to be accepted amongst them.

He doesn't let them rape me anymore; they have a new toy now. Ginny. I know that I know her, and she was someone of importance to me, but those memories are long gone.

The Dark Lord has requested a private audience with Draco and I. I hope this is it. My chance to be something more than a prisoner.

I crave the darkness.

I want live for something more than the sheltered walls of my prison cell.

I want to be loyal to someone I've grown to respect and has proven himself worthy of my loyalty.

 

* * *

 

**12th June 1998.**

 

Hello old friend, it's been a while.

Where do I begin?

I was put to the ultimate test and prevailed. I killed the blood traitor, Weaslette. Her determination was inspiring, I must say. It only took her days to succumb to her horrifying death. I was ruthless in every way. I refused to sleep until I'd exhausted all attempts to draw information from her. She fought it valiantly. She spoke of our past, trying to trigger me into feeling guilt, but I felt nothing. She failed. I'm already so unhinged, nothing else matters but my loyalty to the Dark Lord and his cause.

I used many methods to extract information from her. I strung her limp body so her toes could barely stroke the floor as she tried to thrash about wildly in a poor attempt to escape. She was bound in restraints that were charmed to inflict burns into her skin with its contact. Chains of my own creation. Which, I daresay, deserve to be named something exciting. These chemical coils of metal, securely enveloped her wrists, stomach, and ankles, melting her porcelain flesh. Its corrosive tore through her the same way that acid burns extensively through tissue.

I even let Greyback get in on the action.

I'm not saying I'm making allies; it's everyone for themselves here. But it's nice to feel accepted, and such co-operation can only benefit me in the future.

Draco is quiet these days. We used to share something, but things have changed. I’ve climbed the ranks rather quickly; we are always working together now. Every now and then he steals a glance from me. It unnerves me because I don't feel much of anything anymore, but he makes me feel _something_. I don't understand what it is. And I don't like that. All it does is exposes me to weaknesses, and this is not the kind of place to be delicate. The thought of losing my place here scares me, because I don't belong anywhere else now. No one would understand what I've been through or the things I have done. Not to mention, if I developed a conscience again, I would truly be driven mad by revelations of this life.

The Dark Lord is incredibly proud of me - so much so that I now have his mark embedded in my skin. It's a comforting addition to the rest of them. To know that all I have experienced was worth it.

I'm not blind to know that you, Draco, have been reading this. So I will address _you_ directly.

You’ve always come second wherever I am concerned. So it really came as no surprise when you and I were head-to-head for the right-hand spot: the Dark Lord's “most loyal” Death Eater. What can I say? My bravery far surpasses your hesitant calculations. A true leader has no hesitations. No limits. No expectations. Failure is not an option. Failing means you're weak, and a team is only as strong as their weakest-fucking-link. Disregarding everything that I've said above, I may be many things; honest is certainly one of them.

Your weakness is because of past moments between us. You need to let that flame diminish, unless the Dark Lord wants to ignite it. This is our only true means of communication, so I'll be clear. I won't enjoy torturing you if I'm made to, so don't give him a reason to make me punish you. I refuse to flirt with the idea of us forming something more. I want you, but I don't need you. I don't need anyone except the Dark Lord needing me as his most faithful servant. Don't fuck with that. After everything I've endured, I will not jeopardise all I've worked for. Don't be a fool. You will not waver my loyalty.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**26th June 1998.**

 

I know you've been watching me, Draco. _Stalking_ me. I do hope you're disappointed by your observations. It may interest you to know my predatory skills are extraordinary—if I say so myself.

I too, have been following you...

I am the eerie silence in the middle of the night, the nothingness that echoes.

I am the shadow that dances with the tree's outside your window, blending into the wooden stumps and the weightless wind in the leaves.

I am that feeling you get when you're alone and you think someone's watching you.

Your little stunt is fucking with my ambitious strength to avoid feeling things for you. How dare you lure me with your touch! I thought there was only one thing I needed: the favouritism of the Dark Lord. Your unsanctified touch has given me things I didn't know I needed. It's primal. The need to fuck. It's a hunger that cannot go unsatisfied or ignored, but what is really fucking me up is wanting to see your beautiful damn face everyday and night.

I'm walking a dangerous line here, and I feel an inch of my old self, that reckless Gryffindor courage that I murdered long ago. I thought it was dead. I thought I'd killed it because I didn't need it anymore. But now I need it like I crave you. You've corrupted me. I hate you for it. I hate you for making me see again. It was all said and done, being blind, but I'm feeling the sting of a needle and it's thread tugging at my skin. Restitching me. Trying to mend me piece by piece. I don't like it. I prefer to be unemotive - it's easier to live with myself that way.

I need to be unhinged to be here.

Because of you, I’m reminded of what it feels like, to be giddy with emotions when you have a teenage crush on someone. Please don't make me feel anymore. I can't bare to live with it.

 

* * *

 

**26th July 1998.**

 

It may come as a surprise to you but I like it; this game we play. You creep, I stalk. You tease, I bite. You temp, I seduce. Who can resist a Malfoy, really? Especially when he wanders so aimlessly into my midst.

When I pushed you away, I didn't think you'd actually give up. Maybe you've had a change of heart. Maybe you realise playing with my fire is suicide. Or maybe it's because I can't be redeemed, and you can't live with that. It bothers you that I'm still so loyal to him. But regardless, I know you're enthralled by me. You're trying to fight the temptation, but we're both caught in the struggle. It's not in your nature to give up on something you want, so come and get it. We won't have to deal with consequences. I hold the top spot for a reason. I am capable of great things.

Deceiving.

Don't make me manipulate you. We both know I will succeed.

 

* * *

 

**1st August 1998.**

 

Being the tempting seductress that I am, I allured you. You took the bait so willingly. I'm a means with no end, and you’re “the fool,” as you so graciously put it.

You're a fool in love.

I'm flattered I arose such a deep meaning in you. I'm shocked you're capable of it. Merlin, I am shocked I have the ability to give and accept it.

You thought you were being sly, but I had one up on you, and I beat you at your own game. I've always been determined; it just layed dormant somewhere in me for awhile. All it took was one taste, and I had you submitting to my every demand. “Don't hate the player, hate the game” is the Mudblood saying, though I'm using the context differently. Since I'm worthy, I have no qualms using such a filthy word, but if anyone else dares to speak to me with such a slur, I'll fucking kill them. They don't dare disrespect me.

Owning you is a power trip I have come to enjoy immensely. You can't even begin to understand how elated I was when the Dark Lord gave you to me as a reward. I consider it a great honour to own the youngest Malfoy. All I have to do is bark and you yelp in submission. There's no powerplay. You are weakened by love, but I love that I do that to you.

Call me wicked or despicable, but I often find myself torn between the game we play and my duty.

Of course, my duty comes first. It has to. But you. I'm a collector of great things, and your heart makes a nice addition.

I earned you.

I feel great satisfaction in knowing that. Call it boredom, or whatever you like really, but to me you were a conquest. A mission: infatuated by me, and I, being a merciful witch, could only oblige your desires. Who would expect me, Hermione Granger, to be capable of such? No one. And no one questions me. Their rightful place is beneath my muddy feet, and I relish it.

I can't give you all of me. I know you find it hard to understand.

Your love gives me life. But my love for you is a vulnerability I can't afford to have. I know that I'm either hot or cold with you, but so is the nature of our relationship. It is nothing more than a business arrangement now.

Don't hate me for saying that, as I've always been honest with you. I trust you to respect that.

 

* * *

 

**2nd September 1998.**

 

You can't read this, but I find comfort in continuing to write to you.

 

I had to dispose of you. I know you can't read this to understand, but I need to say this so it doesn't rot inside me like everything else. I had to prove myself again, and the only way I could do that was to take your life.

My wavering loyalty was affecting my decision making, and it was taking it's toll on me negatively. You were a distraction, and the Dark Lord was beginning to question my ability. He didn't _agree_ with our connection. I predicted this. I told you what needed to be.

I can't blame you, though. I was hard and tough on parchment, but in the flesh I crumbled. I was supposed to own you, but you ended up owning me. It was supposed to be business, but it was pleasure.

Your fate was sealed when the Dark Lord learnt of our pregnancy. I had to make the ultimate sacrifice. I had to choose. I couldn't bring myself to give up my position and our baby, so I had to sacrifice you. If you were alive, you would have tried to find another way, but there was no other way. Leaving here is simply not an option.

My emotions are erratic, but I blame the pregnancy.

Taking your life is another scar I'll bare, but it's buried deep.

Will I ever recover from this? Who knows.

I made it personal. I took your life into own my hands, doing it the only dignified way I knew how. I poisoned you. Call me a romanticist, but Romeo did it, and I felt, of all the ways to kill someone you love, it's the best way.

I’m sorry.

I did it graciously, and in doing so, it means that you live on in me; besides the life of the child we created. I have your soul because I had your love. You need not fear of anyone else trying to earn my love because it belongs to only you.

Sometimes there's beauty in self-destruction and the destruction of others. It's a sad realisation, but it's true.

I'm okay leaving the remaining pieces of my morality on the floor. It's better that way.

I'm deranged. Just like the others, but your spirit will live on. There's no running from me.

My name is Hermione.

My heart is as black as my rotted core.

I am a soulless, relentless warrior.

I can't even run from me.

 


End file.
